Five by Five
by Medieval Liz
Summary: Sam had left Dean for four years, and he knows there is so much of that time apart that he knows nothing of. When someone from that time suddenly descends on them, he realizes there’s more to his brother – and the world – than even he knew.
1. PROLOGUE

_**Title: **Five by Five_

_**Author:** Medieval Liz_

_**Rating: **T (Future potential for M)_

_**Summary: **Seven years ago, Sam left for Stanford. Three years ago, he came back. He knows little of what happened with Dean during those four years. When someone from that time suddenly descends on them, he realizes there's more to his brother – and the world – than even he knew... -- BTVS XO -- _

_*This story takes place during Season Four, after Dean has been pulled from Hell. I'm unsure if the Angel/Demon war will feature into it or not, that's something I have yet to decide. _

_**Warnings: **There will be violence, though hopefully not too gratuitous; later on there may be some sex – this is Dean Winchester I'm dealing with here after all; A couple characters will use some mild profanity._

_**A/N: **From the start of the show, I've always felt a similarity to Supernatural and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I've wanted to see that explored. The only catch, the two worlds are hard to merge. Their supernatural Mythos are very, very different. But, I'm going to give it a try and hopefully I've explained certain aspects well._

_**Disclaimer: **The usual: I do not own Supernatural or Buffy. It's just a little fun._

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_**Prologue: Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot…**_

Why did these things have to be so damn fast?

He had lost Sam a while ago; at least Dean thought he had. He couldn't hear the echo of Sam's pounding feet behind him anymore and he was too focussed on keeping the bloodsucker in his sights to take a look.

They'd been tracking the thing for days, ever since Springfield, Ohio. They'd picked up the trail of the vampire pack while investigating several unexplained deaths. By the time they'd got there, the thing had already moved on.

They'd followed them to Springfield, Indiana.

And then to Springfield Illinois.

Yea, there was a definite pattern.

They actually lost them in Illinois. In a city of more than a hundred thousand people, it really was inevitable. But there are only so many 'Springfields' in the Midwest. By the first death in Nebraska, Sam and Dean had already been on the road.

It didn't take long to figure out who was doing the killing. There weren't too many visitors in the small town of 1500 people.

The monsters had attacked a family in their farmhouse about a mile to the southwest of town. The Winchesters had burst onto the scene with their usual dramatic flair – Dean successfully getting tossed through the bay window for his efforts – and the battle was on.

The family got out, in the end, and three of the four creatures were dispatched relatively quickly with just a few swipes of the boys' machetes.

Now Dean was chasing the last one through the farm's fields. He had been running after the thing for nearly ten minutes.

And damn it, he was getting tired!

Ahead of him, the vampire leapt over a barbed wire fence with inhuman agility. Only a few steps behind, Dean planted his hand on one of the posts and proceeded to vault himself over. Unfortunately for him, his weary muscles had other ideas.

He didn't quite get his feet over the top wire, and he soon found himself tumbling into the freshly tilled soil. He landed a little too solidly on his back, driving the breath from his lungs. The machete he'd been carrying slid from his hand and disappeared in the dark.

The vampire he'd been chasing stopped his retreat and casually walked back to where Dean lay trying to catch his breath. The hunted looked down at the hunter and laughed. "So you're one of the infamous Winchester brothers. Funny, I thought you'd be scarier. "

"You seemed pretty scared a minute ago," Dean groaned, slowly moving his hand toward the ivory grip of the gun tucked into the small of his back, "Running away with your tail between your legs n' all."

Sensing the movement, the vampire stomped on his wrist and pressed it viciously into the ground. Dean shouted in pain – and annoyance at himself – as he felt the bones snap beneath the heavy boot.

"Situation's changed."

It was on him quicker than Dean could register. Leg's straddling his waist, arms pinning his shoulders, he was in no position to put up much of a fight as he watched the vampire's teeth descend over its human ones. It hissed in anticipation as it lowered its head toward his neck.

Tips of fangs scratched at the skin over his carotid artery.

And then the weight holding him down was gone.

A shadow had flung itself over the fence and tackled the vampire off its intended snack and, for the millionth time in his life, Dean thanked Sammy for his impeccable timing.

Gingerly lifting himself up onto an elbow, and watched the two rolling in the dirt. He was just about to get to his feet when he heard someone else's running approach and a frantic exclamation. "Dean!"

The elder hunter's head snapped around to see his brother slowing down enough get a proper purchase on the fence and jump over. Sam landed next to him and instantly knelt to check him for any injuries.

If Sam was here, who was fighting the Vampire?

Both Winchesters looked toward the battle.

The vampire had easily been as big as Sam, standing several inches over six feet, and towered over the newcomer to the scene. Lithe, slender, unequivocally female, and nearly a full foot smaller than her opponent, the petite woman was kicking some serious ass!

"What the hell, Sammy?"

Sam just shook his head, watching the one sided fight with a surreal curiosity. "I don't know. I was running after you and then she just ran past me like I was standing still!"

Shoulder length hair bounced on bare shoulders as the girl drew back her arm, her hand gripping some sort of weapon that neither hunter's could determine in the dark. The weapon was plunged into the vampire's chest, and as the woman took a step back from the staggering vamp, comprehension came to Dean.

"Well, shit!" She exclaimed, amusement in her voice. She glanced at the brothers. "He's one of yours."

The creature was growling menacingly as he pulled the stake from the oozing wound over his heart, but the woman seemed unfazed. She hurried over to the brothers and reached for the weapon in Sam's hand. "Mind if I borrow this?"

Without an answer, she easily took the machete from the younger man's hand and turned back to the vampire that was leaping at her with an enraged snarl. She didn't even blink. With a lazy swing she brought the sword around and down.

The head separated from the body, splattering the three of them with blood, and a second later it was rolling across the dirt.

The vampire was dead.

And she wasn't even breathing hard.

Sam was staring at her with his mouth agape like a dead fish as she casually handed the bloodied weapon back to its owner.

Dean couldn't blame him. Even covered head to toe in blood and dirt, she was stunning.

Dark hair, dark haunting eyes, alabaster skin, and a body… well, the leather halter and slender jeans she was wearing were definitely showing all the right curves in all the right ways. Not to mention revealing the lone freckle that sat provocatively on the exposed skin of her left breast. And her smile – a smile that had undoubtedly been the undoing of many a strong man, and probably a few women as well.

No one moved, not for several seconds, until she found her voice first.

"Hi, Dean."

"Faith?!"

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_**A/N II:** Well, there it is. I've got several more chapters in my head for this one, so if you're interested please post a review. They help with the writing process as my muse is greedy and only works for lots of reviews. --wink--_


	2. CHAPTER ONE

_**A/N:** Okay, so it's taken me a while to get the next chapter up. Sorry about that. Things are a little hectic in this brain of mine. Too many plot bunny's bouncing around for their own good._

_So this chapter is a lot of nothing, mostly exposition. I hope I was able to explain the different mythos decently enough. I think that's what really took so long, trying to figure out exactly how to mesh the two worlds. Let me know what you think?_

_Also, I had to get Faith properly introduced. *grin* I love that girl, she's just too fun to write._

_So here it is, then. i hope you enjoy and I would love to hear your critiques - good or bad. I don't mind flames either, their good to toast marshmallows. _

_-Liz_

(WARNING: ONE F-BOMB)

**

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****CHAPTER ONE: ****NOW…**

Sam watched the pair with wary curiosity.

It was obvious by their interaction that there was a history between his brother and the woman, but he couldn't imagine it was anything beyond Dean's normal relationships with woman. She had to be someone he'd spent a night or two with, and the way she took out that vamp meant she was a hunter.

But there was something… off about her he couldn't put his finger on.

She sat with her legs crossed on the small table in the brother's motel room, Dean's newly cast encased arm draped across her lap as she was drawing something on the white plaster. The small town didn't have a hospital, just a clinic, but had been more than equipped to x-ray the limb and set then cast the broken wrist.

Leaning forward on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, Sam tuned in their conversation as Dean began to laugh at something she had said. It had been too long since he'd heard such an honest sound from his brother.

"All of a sudden," she was saying, her head bent low as she worked on the doodle, "I hear this screaming from outside. So I go tearing out, stark nude, and this church bus has broke down, and there's these three vamps feasting on half the Baptists in South Boston. So I waste the vamps, and the preacher comes up, and he's hugging me like there's no tomorrow, when all of a sudden, the cops pull up and they arrested us both."

"God, I love that story," Dean chuckled again, leaning back in the chair while she worked. "I always wondered why Pastor Jim would get so embarrassed whenever I asked him about his time in Boston."

"Wait," Sam interrupted with a start. "You knew Pastor Jim?"

She finally looked up at him, her hazel eyes regarding him in amusement although he could detect a hint of sadness in them. "Yea, I knew Jim. I was sorry to hear he'd fallen. He was a good man, treated me pretty decent in those days."

"He never mentioned you," Sam said, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. "I find it hard to believe that James Murphy couldn't take down a couple of vampires."

"Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes at his brother.

"Nah, it's cool Dean," Faith went back to her project. "And you're right, Jim was the man. But we aren't talking the garden variety blood suckers you boys are use to dealing with."

The youngest considered what she was saying, remembering her comment back in the field. "You said one of ours. There's more than one kind?"

"Shows how little you know, Stanford," the girl finally put the pen aside and gave her full attention to Sam. "It's all in the blood."

"Blood?"

"Vamps live off the stuff, right? Back in the day, the first Vampires were created when the last demon to leave this reality fed off a human, mixed their blood. He was a human form possessed, infected by the demon's soul. He bit another, and another, and you know the rest."

"But the demon's didn't leave," Sam pointed out, "they're still here."

"Different kind of demons," Dean explained.

"Right," Faith shifted, letting her legs off the edge of the table where she began to swing them casually. "What you boys call 'Demons' were once human-" She glanced at Dean. "-you've learned that, right?" He nodded, and she continued. "Kay, so they were bad humans, but human none the less. Their souls go to one of the infinite hell dimensions and get all twisted up and turned inside out and voila… Demons you all know and love to kill. Everything that you've fought has, at one point or another, been human."

"So what are you talking about?" Sam asked

"Not so human," She leaned back, her palms on the table surface propping her up. "This world is ageless, Stanford, and we were not the first beings to call it home. I'm taking about the Old Ones; beings of seriously bad mojo that ruled a Hell on earth. They were driven out by the plague of man."

Sam's mind was reeling. "Okay, say I believe you. How does that explain the Vampires?"

"Different demons, different monsters," Dean answered, his eyes flicking between his brother and the woman on the table, "Different heroes."

She smiled at him and then turned back to Sam. "Best guess is that one of these former human dealios decided he liked the idea and mingled his blood and some black magic of his own and created the animals you know as vamp."

"So what's the difference?" Sam asked, but then realized he could answer his own question. "The blood."

Faith nodded. "One's more human than the other. That why most of the lore doesn't pertain to what you hunt."

"The stakes, the sunlight, it never works," Sam nodded. It was making a strange sort of sense. "So why haven't we ever come across these other kind of vamps?"

"Because I make sure we stay away," Dean growled. "What Faith hunts, and not just the Vampires, we can't handle."

"Can't handle?" That was something he had never expected to hear from his brother. "If anything, it sounds like these vampires are easier to kill than what we deal with. Sunlight, stake to the heart, beheading, burning; all more than the one way we have to fight when we hunt them."

"Easier?" Faith scoffed. "Sunlight? Sure, that'll kill them. But do you carry a pocket full of sunshine around with you? Cuz last I checked these big bads don't come out during the day. And with the way they move, you'd be dead before you got a single swing of that shiny machete of yours. And you can forget about staking them. Have you ever tried to stab a piece of wood through bone? Through the tendons, and ligaments, of the rib cage? Unless you got superhuman strength and speed, you won't stand a chance against what I play with."

"You're saying you've got both?" It was Sam's turn to scoff.

She just grinned wolfishly at him. "Oh, you have no idea, Demon-boy."

He was taken aback by those words. Sam's attention snapped to his brother. "You told her?"

Dean shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead. "Didn't have to; she can feel it."

"Feel?" Sam turned back to Faith, annoyed that the grin was still plastered across her face.

"Takes one to know on, Sammy." She laughed at the sight of Sam as his jaw practically hit the floor. "I told you, it's all in the blood. You've got it, I've got it, hell I think Dean's the purest one of the three of us and that's saying something isn't it!"

"It's how she hunts what she does," Dean told his brother slowly. "Some wicked bad ass shaman guys took some random chick gave her the power of the demons she would kill."

Faith chewed on the end of the pen. "Into every generation, and all that jazz."

"Wait… what!?" Sam could tell that Dean was trying not to laugh at the expression he knew was on his face.

"She's a Slayer," Dean explained. "It started out a couple millennia ago when the first Slayer was created. These magic men needed someone who could fight the vampires and monsters. They tried it with men, but it only worked on a woman."

"Why?"

"Life," Faith answered. "Turns out, because a woman's body creates life it can also sense death. And other things, apparently."

"But they were afraid of the power," Dean continued. "This was back in the day when women were nothing. To give one crazy power like that… So they put a clause in the fine print: there can be only one."

"So what," Sam gazed at Faith with trepidation, "You're mother was the slayer and your daughter will be the next?

"Oh hell no," she laughed. "We don't normally live that long. A year or two tops, from when we're called. When Buffy died the calling went to Kendra. Wasn't her fault B didn't stay dead; who knew CPR was the loop hole on the whole One-in-a-Generation thing. Then Kendra died and I came along."

"So there are two?" This was really getting confusing.

"Last count," her tongue stuck out past her maroon lips as she thought about the answer, "about twenty-five hundred."

Even Dean's jaw dropped at that.

"Long story short," She said, "my girl Willow did some nifty mojo of her own and no more Slayer limit. Girl's gonna be a Slayer, then she's a Slayer."

"Willow, she's some sort of witch?"

"More a goddess," Dean told him. "When she worked the spell, she tapped in to the goddess Hecate's power and it's sorta stuck around. Probably the only witch Dad was happy to have around."

That caught Sam's attention and he scowled. "Dad knew all this? YOU knew all this!?"

"We got it all from Faith a couple years ago," the older man kept his gaze away from the accusing glare of his brother.

Just another secret between them…

Sam was seething. "And where was I? Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You were at school," Faith snapped, sitting up and stopping the swinging of her legs.

Sam looked at her and actually found he was actually a little nervous of the look in her eyes. Dean reached forward and put a hand on her knee. "Faith-"

"And he didn't exactly learn the easy way," She continued, ignoring the warning beneath the touch. She slid from the table and stalked the short distance to the bed, looking down at Sam. "If you'd been there – if you'd seen what they did to him-"

"Faith!" Dean's snap drew her attention back to him and Sam recognized the look in his brother's face. No matter who this woman was, she was on dangerous ground with her verbal assault.

The younger hunter watched her take a deep breath before taking a step back. When she started speaking again, it was calmer and didn't carry the unspoken threat her words had before. "He was lucky Johnny and I were there, Sammy."

"It's Sam," Dean told her.

Sam was surprised at the tone of his brother's voice. He couldn't place it, and that worried him. Instead, he kept his focus on her. "So why are you here?"

"I was wondering that myself," Dean moved from the table, placing himself beside Sam. It was obvious that the older man was reminding the Slayer exactly whose side he was on, and Sam found it rather comforting.

Until he saw the look in the woman's eyes as she turned to his brother.

"Dru's back in the game. And I don't have to tell you who she's looking for."

Dean went pale.

"Fuck me…"


	3. CHAPTER TWO

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far, and for sticking with me. I've got too many stories on the go at the same time, and sadly this one gets forgotten from time to time.

Enjoy!

-Liz

**

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**THEN…**

_June, 2003_

The music was loud even before the bouncer opened the door and Dean passed through.

John was right behind him.

If the truth be told, the younger man felt more than a little ridiculous going to the dance club with his father. He was twenty four years old, after all. He could handle basic recon on his own.

Bobby had mentioned strange goings on in California, and at first both Dean and his father were hesitant to look into it. The proximity to the youngest member of their clan was a little closer than they would have liked. Then Bobby had called in a favour John owed, and they were suddenly on their way to LA.

Only thing was, this hunt was more than a little strange. It was down right freaky!

Before they arrived in Los Angeles, Hell rained down on the city.

Literally.

Bursts of fire showered the city like some real life version of that Bruce Willis movie. Except these weren't meteors, just flames rocketing from the sky. No explanation was given – at least not scientifically. This stank of the supernatural.

And then the lights went out.

Again, literally.

For days, the sun remained hidden. The City of Angels was suddenly overrun with every sort of nasty the Winchesters had ever encountered. And a few new ones too, because things weren't scary enough as it was.

It was the first time Dean could ever remember his father recommending a tactical retreat before they even stepped on the battle field.

Whichever hunters took on the apocalyptic happenings in LA, whatever they did worked. The sun came back and things went back to relative normalcy.

Then his dad came to him with another hunt – one potentially connected to what happened in Los Angeles.

There was another city, north of LA, whose history reeked of supernatural activity since the city was founded in the late 1800s.

Unexplained murders and disappearance; the high school principal getting eaten by his students; reports of some giant snake-like creature that was destroyed when the same high school blew up; the entire town coming down with laryngitis; the entire populace of said town suddenly packing up and abandoning everything; And then the whole town was swallowed in a giant sink hole.

Yea, weirdness was definitely ensuing in sunny California.

So here they were, in this nothing town near the border of Oregon, following some intel John had got from a buddy of his in the army. Apparently, something dark and scary had escaped the no-longer-there city and had made its way up the coast.

There had already been seven murders, and the eye witnesses all said they saw a woman leaving the scene. Long dark hair, seriously pale skin, dark eyes, and one witness claimed she was an 'otherworldly beauty'.

Then there were the autopsy reports. All the body's had been drained of blood, suspicious bite marks on the necks and, several days after their deaths, two of the victims' bodies were stolen from the morgue. A third body had been exhumed from its grave, but the police report claimed it looked like it had crawled out of the grave.

"So, seriously," Dean had to practically shout over the music, after they had found a table on a balcony over looking the rest of the club and ordered a couple of beers from their waitress. "Vampires? I didn't think they existed anymore."

"They don't," John answered briskly. "Haven't for years. At least that was my understanding."

The younger hunter waited as the waitress placed the bottles on the table, offering him one of his trademark lady-killer smiles and slipped a ten dollar bill on her serving tray. He watched the pretty little thing walk away, and was rewarded when she looked back at him several times before disappearing completely in the crowd.

He turned back to his father, amusement gleaming in the older man's eyes. Dean took a swig from the bottle in front of him. "Then what the hell are we dealing with?"

Following suit, John took a drink before answering. His eyes began to scan the youths around them. "A Trickster, maybe."

"But why take the bodies?"

"With a trickster, who the hell know anything? But after what we just saw in LA, best not to rule anything out. For all we know, vampires went into hiding and have decided to start paying us meat sacks a visit."

Dean nodded as he swallowed another mouthful of the alcohol. "So we work with the assumption that it could be just about anything."

"Or nothing," John nodded. "Now we just watch."

Watching was the fun part for Dean, especially considering their current position. The scantily clad women moving their bodies scintillatingly to the music were enough to make him really wish his dad hadn't insisting on coming with him.

The two men sat silently for several minutes, slowly nursing their drinks. After drinking more than half of the beer, John got up from the table and walked over to the railing of the balcony. Peering intently on the throbbing mass of bodies dancing below, something had obviously caught his well-trained eyes.

Dean put his near empty bottle down and joined his father. Feeling the tension practically radiating from the older man, the relaxed and casual beginning to the night was suddenly over.

The hunt was on.

"Where?" Dean asked.

With a near imperceptible nod, John directed his son's attention to the dance floor. "Center floor, pale top."

She was moving fluidly with the crowd, her body twisting and thrumming to the beat of the music with a serpentine grace. In the strobe lights that lit the club her skin was luminescent, the paleness of it contrasting against the bright crimson lips and dark brown tresses that cascaded onto her back. The neckline of the sleek, silky blouse draped dangerously low allowing tantalizing glimpses of her cleavage.

"Damn," the younger hunter breathed in appreciation, drawing the word out into syllables. "Otherworldly was pretty accurate."

The Winchesters watched her solely now, no longer doubting that there was something inhuman about the woman. Surrounded by several men, and women, she was drawing those around her like moths to a flame. Somehow she was dancing with each of them simultaneously, her hands and body touching those immediately around her enticingly; appraisingly.

It only took a few minutes before she seemed to settle on one man in particular. They spent several songs dancing exclusively, his hands holding her to him although the actually physical touch wasn't needed. She wasn't going anywhere.

The man, not much more than a boy, leaned down and whispered in the woman's ear. A moment later they were moving for the exits and so were the hunters.

In the short time they had been inside, the crowd had doubled. It took them several minutes before they reached the cool night outside, and by then the girl and her prey were both gone.

They moved away from the club, toward the street. Each looked in opposite directions, hoping to catch a glimpse of their quarry. Once again, it was the older man that spotted her.

"There," he said, motioning to a blur of movement heading into an alley. It was halfway down the block and on the other side of the street, but it only took the two Winchesters a few seconds to reach the alley. As they neared, they heard the sounds of fighting and quickened their pace.

When they stepped into the mouth of the alley, what they saw drew them to a sudden stop.

She was definitely not a vampire.

The woman was standing facing the street, the boy between her and the hunters – except he wasn't there for long.

With a scream, the boy's skin exploded in a cloud of dust and left a blackened skeleton standing where he once had. A heart beat later, the bones crumbled in on themselves leaving nothing more than a pile of dust that disappeared on the faint night breeze.

Dark eyes glimmered in the light filtering from the street lamp as she stared at them, a playful grin touching her painted lips. "Nothin' to see here, boys. Best you keep movin'."

John reacted quickly, pulled his pistol from its place in the small of his back and aimed it at the woman's head. Dean's was out and aimed a second after.

Instantly, her hands were up in the air and she took a step back. "Whoa! Hold on a minute there, studlies!" She eyed the weapons warily. "You guys cops or somethin'?"

"Or something," John growled. "What kind of fugly are you?"

"Fugly?" The woman lowered her hands, gesturing her body. "Can you not see me?"

"Demon? Witch?" Dean snapped. "Shape-shifter?"

Understanding flittered in her eyes and she sighed. "Aw damn, you're Hunters."

"Doesn't matter what she is," John took a step forward. "Silver'll either kill her or slow her ass down so we can-"

She was moving quicker than they were prepared for, stepping in the remaining boy-dust as she closed the distance to them. The palm of her hand slapped against the side of John's gun, pushing it away the same instant he squeezed the trigger. The bullet went wide, missing the woman completely, and her fist connected solidly with his jaw.

John stumbled back and nearly went down, but years of training kept him on his feet. He struck back, his clenched hand backhanding the woman across the face.

Dean could tell that she had not been expecting that. In fact, she seemed rather impressed. He lined up to take the shot but she moved before he could pull the trigger.

He followed her with his pistol as she traded blows with his father. She was inhumanly fast, but John wasn't one of the best hunters out there for nothing. He was holding his own again her, landing as many strikes as she was.

When Dean realized he wasn't going to be able to get a clean shot – because he sure as hell wasn't going to risk hitting his dad – he slipped the weapon back into the small of his back and moved to tackle her. She was distracted with John, it should have been and easy move.

How wrong he was.

She sensed him coming. Grabbing onto the collar of John's jacket she used his weight to keep her upright as she kicked back against Dean's chest. The blow sent the boy into the side of a dumpster where the back of his head connected with a painful thwack.

John growled as he saw his oldest slump to the ground in a dazed heap, but was relieved to see Dean was still conscious. He threw a vicious punch into the woman's stomach and she doubled over as the air was expelled from her lungs. She staggered back at a second blow to the side of her head and went down to one knee.

The hunter thought he had her beat as he loomed over her, but she was still fighting. She swept her leg around, pulling John down to the pavement beside her. In an instant she was on top of him, her slender legs straddling his hips while her delicate hands actually managed to pin his wrists to the ground.

He strained against her – how strong was this bitch!? – but to no avail. John settled for glaring up at her.

"Damn," she breathed with an impressed smirk on her split lips. She spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground beside them and turned back to him. "I haven't had a tumble like that in weeks. And you're human?"

"And you're not." John sneered. "_Christo_."

"I'm just as human as you are," she purred, the word ineffective against her. Her grin grew wider. "See, here's the deal: the game in this town is the majors and you boys are still playin' in the minors. You ain't up for what's going down here. I suggest you pack up and take that sweet ass of yours out of here before something else decides to make you their tasty treat."

She leaned back, relaxing her hold on his wrists, but before John could move she was pressing her bloodied lips against his. A moment later she was pushing herself up, moaning in complaint. "Damn, you taste good. See you around, Hunter."

John slowly wiped the woman's blood from his lips with his thumb as he sat up, watching her disappeared further into the alley.

"She's half your age," Dean's pained voice cut through the silence.

His father was on his feet in a flash, striding over to his son's side. John leaned down, tilting Dean's head to the side to examine the bleeding lump on the back of the boy's head. "How bad?"

"M'fine," he brushed the hand away but accepted the offered hand to rise – somewhat unsteadily – to his feet. "What was she?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "But there's no way she's human."

Dean couldn't stop the stupid grin that curled his lips. "Didn't like it on the bottom, huh?"

The older man scowled and went to retrieve his weapon. "Shut it. We'll go back to the motel; call Bobby and see what he can make of this."

"Yes sir." But, seeing the look on his father's face when the man glanced down the alley again, he couldn't help himself. "Dude, you got macked on by the fugly."

"Boy, I will knock you on your ass. Head injury or not."

Dean just smirked and followed his father out of the alley. "Yes sir."

_From the shadows on the roof of the club, dark eyes watched with growing interest. Nostrils flared delicately as the intoxicating aroma of the young one's blood overpowered the other scents of the night, even at this distance. A longing growl emanated from between maroon lips as they parted as though to taste the scent._

_"You sing the sweetest little song," the melodic voice of the shadow hissed. "Won't you sing for me, hmmm?"_


	4. CHAPTER THREE

**A/N:** THE MUSE is pleased. Thank you for everyone who's reviewed and/or added this story to their alerts.

-Liz

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****THEN…**

_June 2003_

"I want to know what the hell she was, Bobby!"

He was at a dead end. John hated dead ends. It meant he hadn't figured out what he was killing.

[I get that, Winchester, but I ain't your personal encyclopaedia here. I can help ya out, but it's gonna take some time.]

John kept pacing, running a hand over his mouth and chin as he felt his son watching him from where Dean sat on his bed. "It's feeling like we don't got a lot of time," the older hunter went on with the conversation. "This girl… she was strong, Singer, and fast. Landed Dean on his ass with one hit. And what she did to that kid, I've never seen anything like it. I need to know what I'm up against here."

[All right, don't get your panties in a twist,] the voice growled on the other end of the call. [I'll make some calls; get back to you when I find something.]

The call ended with a resounding click and John closed his cell before tossing it onto the second bed in the small room.

"He give you anything?" His son asked.

"Nothing," John growled and slumped onto the edge of his bed.

He felt Dean's eyes watching him but his boy said nothing, waiting for John to make a decision on their next move; waiting for his orders. The older man sighed and slipped his weapon from small of his back and set it beside the cell. "We should eat. I saw a twenty-four hour place when we were coming in to town-"

"I saw it." Dean was on his feet instantly, sliding his arms through his jacket the same time he was moving toward the door. "It's a couple miles, but I should be back in twenty."

"Gives me time to shower clean up," John stood and stretched. "You can have the bathroom when you get back."

The blonde hunter scooped the keys to the Impala from the small table in the room and on his way out the door.

"Watch your back!" John called after him as the door snapped shut.

Checking the salt lines at the door, relaying the line when he saw it had been disturbed by the doors movement, he felt secure enough to start stripping off his clothes on his way to the bathroom. A minute later, steam filled the compact room as the hot water cascaded down his aching shoulders and back.

He wouldn't have admitted in front of his son, but –damn it! – if that bitch hadn't hurt him. Despite her diminutive form, her hits had some serious power beneath them. He'd fought demon possessed women before, and even then he didn't have the bruises like those forming on his chest.

The tips of his fingers pressed gingerly against one particularily nasty purple discoloration and he was relieved not to feel the rib beneath move more than it should have. Bruised, not broken. That was a good thing.

Titling his head forward, his tall frame too much for the motel's shower, the water flowed onto the back of his head and ran down over his face. He closed his eyes as the water touched his lids and then his lips. They parted slightly when the memory of the woman's mouth on his suddenly erupted in his mind.

Despite the aggression that prompted the kiss, her lips had been soft – almost like silk. Mingled with the metallic taste of her blood he had detected a hint of pineapple. Lip gloss, most likely, and he felt the thrill of arousal at the thought of what the rest of her tasted like.

He quickly twisted the hot water off and let the water run ice cold.

The sudden change of temperature was a shock to his body and the muscles in his chest seized, sending a wave of pain through the bruises both on the surface and hidden beneath. He hissed at the sensation but refused to adjust the water flow again.

John finished his shower quickly and wrapped one of the motel's well worn towels around his waist before grabbing another to dry his hair as he walked out of the bathroom.

He hadn't been expecting Dean back so soon, so he was surprised to see the figure sitting at the table with feet kicked up onto its surface.

Even more surprising was that it wasn't Dean.

Jerking to a surprised stop a few steps out of the bathroom, he could only stare at the object of his brief fantasy only moments before. Her back was to him, still wearing the same clothes that she had back at the club only this time a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders.

"Interestin' readin' you got here." The brunette was thumbing casually through his journal. She stopped on one page and pointed at the roughly sketched image. "You really take out a rougarou in Louisiana back in '98?"

John was only a few yards away from his pistol on the mattress but, remembering how quickly she had moved in the alley, he doubted he'd get that far before she had moved.

"I was in Louisiana that year, heavy heat. Even getting tossed into the swamp with those gaters didn't cool me down, despite the nakedness." Dark hair slid down the back of the chair as she tilted her head backward to look at him. Her eyes glimmered with approval. "Speaking of naked, damn!" She drawled with an unmistakable Bostonian accent. "I figured you hunters were buff, but hell man, you are a whole bunch of fine aren't you."

His dark eyes flicked to the doorway to the room, to the undisturbed salt lines. "How did you get in here?"

She followed his gaze and chuckled. "Human, remember?"

The journal was set respectfully onto the surface of the table as she pulled her feet to the floor. She stood and turned to face him. "Want to do your little tests? Say 'Christo' to me again? Cut me with silver? Have me take a shot of holy water? Perform and exorcism? I'll even hold still for that last one."

She spun the chair around and sat down again expectantly. Then she held her arms out and pressed her wrists together with a wicked grin. "Of course if you want to tie me down I'd be game for that too."

He raised an eyebrow and took a few tentative steps toward the bed.

"Go ahead." The woman motioned to the weapon with a nod of her head. "It will kill me, if that's what you really want. But something tells me you're more of an answers kind of guy."

He retrieved the gun, feeling better about the situation – and the fact that he was clad in only a towel – now that the weapon was in his hand and pointed at her. "Who the hell are you?"

"The name's Faith."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"I highly doubt it," She shrugged, the leather jacket lifting off her shoulders as she removed it to drape it over the back of the chair. "Not unless you're a fan of _America's Most Wanted_."

John couldn't help but notice the flash of regret that filled her eyes only to disappear a heartbeat later. There was story there, one he could care less about. "So, Faith, what are you doing here?"

"Besides enjoying the show?" She smirked and leered at him.

He scowled and she laughed, launching herself to her feet so fast he nearly pulled the trigger. John almost wished he had when she was suddenly pressed against him and her momentum carried them both to the bed, once again with him pinned beneath her.

"I've got an itch," she purred down at him, her hands pressing down on his bare chest.

He pressed the gun against her temple. "Get. Off."

The barrel against her pale skin didn't seem to bother her as she just smiled at his choice of words. "Oh I plan to, thought maybe you'd like to come along for the ride since you were the one who made me all… itchy."

The woman, Faith, leaned forward, the neckline of her cream coloured top falling open further and exposing the tantalizing curves of her breasts. John kept the gun flush against the side of her head yet couldn't get his finger to respond and pull the trigger.

Her body was soon pressing down on top of his and her lips brushed against the lobe of his ear. "If you were going to shoot me you would have done it by now."

The breath of her whisper sent a jolt of electricity through his body and he felt it responding to her without conscious thought. She no doubt felt the change in his body as she giggle and her silk-like lips were suddenly nuzzling the side of his neck.

And then his phone started to ring.

Closing his eyes at the stimulation while her lips moved from his neck to his chest, John reached out with his free hand and snagged the phone. He flipped it open and put it to his ear. "What?"

[And hello to you too, John.] The voice of Pastor James Murphy filtered through the device. [Bobby called me, asked a few interesting questions about the hunt you're on.]

John opened his eyes and let them fall onto the woman's face as she sat up while he was on the phone. "You know what I'm dealing with, Jim?"

[A girl, late teens to early twenties, strength and speed, doesn't react to any of the normal deterrents?]

"That's what I've got."

[Then you, my friend, are in luck.] The preacher chuckled with amusement. [She's a Vampire Slayer.]

"Vampire Slayer?" His question was asked of Jim but it was directed to Faith. She answered with a grin that would shame the Cheshire Cat. She rolled her eyes with his next question. "So she's a hunter?"

[Oh she's so much more than a Hunter, John. I don't know which one of the two you've got but, if either one is in town, I'd get out if I were you.]

John frowned. "Human?"

[As human as you are, but with a few mystical enhancements that have been passed on for millennia. She's one of the good guys, but what she hunts – and not just Vampires – you can't handle.]

"I'll take that into consideration. Thanks Jim."

Her eyes brightened and she was once again leaning down, her mouth so close to his he thought she was going to kiss him again, but instead she spoke into the cell's mike. "Thanks, Pastor Jim!"

The man on the other end erupting with laughter was the last sound from the phone as John closed it. He regarded the woman straddling him with a new curiosity and finally put his weapon aside.

"You know Jim," he stated more than asked. But, by the holy man's reaction, it was obvious the girl – the Vampire Slayer - did.

"You have questions."

He tossed his cell onto the other bed, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slight frame off his waist. She frowned with disappointment and it was his turn to smirk. He moved quickly, despite his aches and pains from their earlier tussle, and twisted her onto her back on the mattress beside him.

Her wrists felt almost frail beneath the ex-marines hands as he pinned them to the bed on either side of her head. John knelt over her and looked down at her lustily. She returned the look with force and lifted her head to meet his lips when he leaned in to kiss her.

God, she tasted good!

--SNSNSN--

It was five minutes from the motel to the diner, and Dean was soon sauntering away from the car and into the brightly lit greasy-spoon. Even at the late hour – or early depending on how you looked at it – there were quite a few people sitting at the tables and counter. By their attire, he figured they were coming from the club he and his father had been to earlier that night.

He slid onto a stool at the counter and picked up the menu. He was half way down the typical fare when the leather of the stool beside him creaked with age when the girl sat down.

The hunter spared her a quick glance, his flirtatious grin on his lips instantly at the sight of her. Her olive skin, her full lips, the deep chocolate of her hair, the perfect curves of her body. She felt his eyes on her and turned to him with a smile. Physically she looked to be in her twenties but there was an experience in her eyes that made her appear older.

"Well good evening," Dean crooned and put the menu down.

"Hi," She responded cheerfully, offering him her hand. "I'm Kennedy."

He pressed his palm against hers as they shook hands. "Dean." His eyes trailed over her, the expensive looking sequinned multicoloured halter and sleek leather pants. "Just come from the Club down the street?"

She nodded, the curly ends of her mid-back length hair bouncing with the movement. "You were there too. I saw you, with that older guy."

Dean tried not to wince. "Just getting a drink with my Dad and it was the only place we could find close to our motel."

"Well, isn't that sweet of you."

"What can I say; I'm a sweet kind of guy."

Kennedy said with a regrettable sigh. "Yea, see, that's where we start to have problems."

Another girl, much younger – probably only sixteen or seventeen –suddenly appeared beside them and grabbed Dean by the chin, turning his head to the side. "Shit. Faith was right," the girl said as she prodded the scabbed over lump hidden beneath his hair.

"Excuse me," he growled, jerking away from the girl. He was tempted to reach for his gun; the only thing keeping it tucked in the waistband of his jeans was the crowded restaurant. "Who the hell are you?"

Both ignored him completely. Kennedy was speaking to the younger one. "If she was outside the club like Faith thinks, then she'll definitely have his scent."

"Maybe she won't be interested?"

"Screw this." Dean stood from the stool, only to be pushed back down by both of the girls without a glance in his direction.

"She's a predator, Molly. She'll go after something strong. Faith says he's a hunter," Kennedy finally looked at him with a frown. "And he's just too pretty for his own good. We take him with us."

"Whoa!" He was readily starting to not care about the crowd. "I have no idea what's going on but I've got two words for you:" he look pointedly at the younger one, "Jail and Bait. I'm not going anywhere with either of you."

Kennedy's dark eyes scowled at him for a brief second before her eyes focussed on something behind her. Almost immediately the chime of the front door opening sounded and he watched her pale. Her body tensed, as if she was spoiling for a fight, and she stood from her seat.

"Oh goddam it," She hissed. "Dean, tell me you're packing."

He glanced over his shoulder, and felt the breath hitch in his throat.

The three missing and supposedly dead bodies were standing in the doorway along with several other men and women; eight in total. All of them were pale, their skin the sickly pallor of the dead. He would have thought 'Zombies', if it weren't for the strange ridges on their foreheads and the deadly fangs they revealed as they curled back their lips and growled lowly.

Dean didn't care about the crowd anymore. He got up slowly from his seat and drew the mother-of-pearl handled pistol from its place at his back. "What are they?"

"A big problem."

* * *

**A/N II**: For those of you unfamilar with the finale season of Buffy, both Kennedy and Molly were potential slayers that became full slayers when Willow performed the magic mentioned in an earlier chapter. They were my favourties and I felt they deserved the make a cameo.


End file.
